


The End's Beggining

by WillowLong (orphan_account)



Series: Shattered [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Sarah Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gender Confusion, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Parent/Child Incest, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Sleepy Cuddles, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/WillowLong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who I am from the start<br/>Take me home to my heart<br/>Let me go<br/>And I will run<br/>I will not be silenced</p><p>Shattered Ones- Trading Yesterday</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End's Beggining

**Author's Note:**

> So, this isn't going to be updated as quickly as I normally do because I'm planning something long and wondrous for this one. There will be some pretty not nice things happening to Buck but I'll be sure to warn you before they happen. Triggers for child abuse and language this chapter. Oh and Sarah Rogers say's a naughty word so WATCH YOURSELF.

November in 1940’s Brooklyn, New York was probably the closest thing to hell on earth anyone could get, shy of a Great War foxhole. The sky’s were choked with the coal smoke from residential homes entwining itself with the smoke that billowed from factory chimneys in an endless stream of black. Clouds and smog blotted out the sun turning the city into an ever looming monster intent on swallowing up all of the hopes and dreams of the souls unfortunate enough to be caught in it’s ashy grip. Breathing was nearly impossible when it rained, mixing with the ash in the air and creating vaporized cement that soaked into your skin and leeched the color from your face and stiffened the tails of your coat. 

It was that chest stiffening rain that now had James Buchanan Barnes growling at his fellow shipyard workers like a rabid mastiff. 

“Can’t fuckin’ deal with this shit, pal.” Bucky set another crate down and wrapped his worn wool pea-coat that the Navy yard provided tighter against his shoulders. “Gonna catch the god damned consumption and die in this rain.” As if to emphasize he coughed roughly into the crook of his elbow.

“Ha. Barnes, ain’t nothin’ in this world could kill you. I’ve seen you fall off a support beam from 20 feet an’ still get up walkin’ like a purebred racin’ horse.” A dark skin man flashed him a smile from beneath his tattered scarf. His eyes shone in the mist like two amber spot lights guiding him through the fog and rain. Bucky smiled smugly in his direction. 

“God damn right about that, Al. Ain’t nothin’ out there that can keep me down.” He grabbed a crate from the stack on the ground and hoisted it up onto the pile slowly growing in front of him. “Like ya said, I’m a purebred stallion.” He winked slyly in a gesture that could easily be taken anyway someone wanted to. Bucky was going for jocular while secretly hoping Al would see it as something a little more, playful. It was a potentially deadly gamble that for some reason he couldn’t leave alone. Only sixteen years old and he already was on the fast track to an eternity in hell, spending two nights out of seven wanderin’ the streets looking for some friend of Dorothy to hold up with for a few hours. 

“Stallion, huh?” Al stopped hauling boxes and looked around the ship yard. They were almost the only ones still left and Bucky fumbled in his pockets searching for his pocket watch. Al beat him to it, flipping the face up under his hand to protect it from the rain. “Damn, we was supposed to be outta here five minutes ago.” 

Bucky exhaled a gratuitous moan. “Thank the Lord above. I could eat a horse’s pecker I’m so hungry.” 

Al chuckled as the started toward the gates. “Ain’t that considered cannibalism, stallion?” He nudged his arm with his own, jostling Bucky as they walked. Bucky huffed with a smile. 

“Not in some circles.” He looked Al in his bright hazel eyes and waited. He waited for the punch or the spark. Whichever he got, he was ready for it. Al crinkled his eyes and glanced sidelong at Bucky as they approached the front of the yard. He wasn’t smiling anymore. 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” He fixed his eyes and kept walking, silent until they parted ways. “See ya tomorrow, Barnes. Watch out for yourself.” He added this last part after he had already headed to his bus stop. Bucky didn’t reply, just weakly waved and headed off in the other direction. 

“Fucking idiot.” He mumbled to himself as he slowly walked to his apartment. He really was hungry and so cold he was starting to feel himself shiver slightly on each exhale. Maybe ma made soup. Or hell, maybe the old man was well enough under the table that he could snatch up a bottle of brown without getting a couple teeth knocked out. A car drove by and splashed him with a wave of grimy street water. 

“Are you kiddin me?!” He threw his arms out at his side and yelled back at the driver who rounded a corner and was gone. Bucky closed his eyes and tossed his head up. “Fuuuuuck.” He whined into the darkening sky. Maybe he could just slip inside and change without being noticed and skip out to Steve’s place. His ma was sure to have something swell on for supper and seeing Steve was just about enough on it’s own. He feel the cold dwindle off slightly at the thought of spending the night with Mrs. R and Stevie. They had been more like his family than his own had since he was ten and meet Steve on the schoolyard. He smiled at the memory. Dumbass kid. Thickheaded and stubborn, seven years old, couldn’t be more than 50 pounds soaking wet trying to fight some thirteen year old's off another stupid little punk who was more than happy to hand over his milk money. That was the first time Bucky punched some jerk in the eye for Steve and it sure as hell wasn’t the last. 

“Hey, kid. What do you think you’re doin’ fighting with those jerks? Got a death wish or somthin’?” He pulled the kid onto his feet and steadied him as he swayed. “Ya alright? Jezze, what are you like five?”

The kid brushed the dirt off his hands and glared daggers into Bucky’s eyes. “I’m seven. Thanks for, uh. Thanks for helping.” He looked away and back again, reaching his hand toward Bucky. “I’m Steve.”

He grabbed his hand and smiled. “Hey Steve. I’m James but you can call me Bucky. Call me James and I probably won’t answer. Plus you don’t look too much like my ma.” The kid laughed with his head down, shaking his sandy blonde hair. 

“I like you, Bucky. Want to come over for dinner? I’m sure my ma won’t mind.” Bucky’s mouth acted before his brain did.

“Yeah. That sounds swell.” And Steve was wrapping his arms around Bucky’s chest and planting a kiss on his cheek. When Steve decided he liked you, it was if he’d known you his entire life. He was grinning like a damn fool as he bounded away and it took Bucky a few seconds to realize that the bell was echoing through the schoolyard. “Come on, Bucky. You got anything you need from home? We can stop by your place and tell your folks you’ll be with me.” He pulled him by the hand toward the sidewalk. 

“Nah, we ain’t gotta do that.” Bucky said, letting himself be dragged by the smaller boy. His folks wouldn’t notice if he was home or not and he really didn’t want to see his dad before he had enough time to drink himself into a stupor. No point in making the extra trip. Anyway, he had no idea where the kid lived. 

Turns out he lived on the same street in different buildings. Bucky could hop easily onto the fire escape that led up to the Rogers kitchen window. He’d gotten a slap on his backside dozens of times from Sarah when she’d awake in the morning to Bucky curled up next to Steve. 

“I don’t mind you comin’ over here, James. But I would like to know so I can let you in the front door instead of having gravel tracked on my kitchen table. Now sit your skinny little hiney down and eat your breakfast. Steve, wash your hands and do the same. You boys’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

They've been inseparable since. 

Bucky cracked the door to his apartment and his heart fell. His father was definitely there and definitely drunk. He heard something in the living room shatter against the wall as he slipped into the kitchen with his sister who was drawing at the kitchen table as if nothing was wrong. 

“What’s goin’ on, Becca?” He knelt down beside his younger sister and brushed her hair behind her ear. 

“Daddy can’t go to work anymore. Mommy said she could and daddy got angry.” She looked back at the drawing. It was a big pink flower amidst a field of tall grass. A mountain reached toward the sky in the background and a bright orange sun took up the entire left corner. 

“This is real nice, Bec. You mind if I keep it when you’re finished?” He stood hoping his parents can continue their bickering until he made it out of the house. 

“You can have it now.” She scribbled her name in the corner and handed it to him.

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh. “Steve show ya to do that?” He took the drawing and folded it into fourths. Becca smiled and nodded curtly. 

“He say’s that’s what a real artist does. He’s a real artist so I know he’s telling me the truth.” Bucky ruffled her hair and headed for his room. His father yelled something that sounded like, “Fucking degrading bitch,” and threw a book against a wall. Bucky saw his opening and sprinted across the hall and into his room, locking the door behind him. Stripping off his wet clothes and throwing on a pair of ripped pants and a thin undershirt he reached under his mattress for his wallet. 

Bucky had always thought it was a dumb idea to keep your valuables under your mattress. If someone broke into your house and wanted to steal your shit, that would be the first place that they would look. But he wasn’t an idiot. The only people who would want to steal from him was his folks and he left a couple crumpled bills in a jar behind the door so that if they ever wanted to they could take that. Let them think he was an idiot if it was what it took. Not like he really gave a shit. He kept the really important stuff in an old boot box in the bottom of his tiny closet. 

“Where you think you’re runnin’ off to this late?” Bucky was stopped by a hand of his shoulder as he was turning the knob of the front door. ‘Shit.’

“Goin’ over to Steve’s.” Bucky spoke dryly without meeting his father’s glazed over eyes. He smelt like sweat and cheap grain whiskey. 

“Why you always goin’ ov’r there, huh? You fuckin’ em’?” He tightened his grip and tilted his head. “You a little queer?” His eyes narrowed and Bucky froze as his father moved in closer gripping him by the other arm and pushing him against the back of the kitchen door. 

“N..No.” Bucky stuttered over his words. 

“No, what? No you ain’t a queer? Or no you ain’t fuckin’ that little Rogers boy?” He was so close now that Bucky could feel his breath and his heart raced. Sweat began to form on his brow despite the chill of the late fall air and the near uselessness of their small wood oven. 

“Either.” He almost couldn’t hear the words himself they were so quiet. He was straining with the urge to whine out against his father’s grip as he felt him press his body against him. They were almost the same height after his last growth spurt and it only made the proximity of his father's body that much more terrifying. 

“I think you’re lyin’ to me. I think you let him fuck you. Oh, yeah. That’s what it is. He fucks you like the fucking little slut that you are. Bet you dress up real nice for him, huh? Fucking fairy.” He moved on of his hands to Bucky’s throat and turned so that he was using all of his weight to pin him to the door. 

“No.” His voice was small. He couldn’t fight back when his father was like this. It was as if he were able to turn Bucky back into that scared ten year old with only a few vulgar words. 

“Givin’ your ass up to anyone who wants it.” He tightened his grip around Bucky’s throat almost completely cutting off his air supply. Fight or flight triggered and he felt the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as his brought his arm up and struck his father in the face. He recoiled as soon as he did, realizing his mistake.

“I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t…” The world went white for a few seconds before the pain hit him. His jaw throbbed and he tasted blood. 

“You fucking little cocksucking whore!” He father descended upon him. He could hear his mother screaming in the distance over the ringing in his ears. He couldn’t fight back. His father was much stronger and worse when he had been drinking. “How dare you disrespect me, you little pissant!” He lost track of the blows and focused only on keeping his arms in front of his face. He knew the drill and his father would give up soon and go back to his bottle and chair. Bucky let his body go limp and the hitting stopped. “Get the fuck out of my house.” He panted through gritted teeth. Bucky struggled to his feet, blood dripping down his face and onto the worn linoleum. He squeezed his eyes shut and fumbled with the doorknob. “NOW!” He father screamed and pushed Bucky out of the open door, falling to his knees in the hallway. The door slammed behind him and he allowed himself a few minutes to let the world settle into place. Him head was throbbing and the pain was blurring his vision.

He’s not sure how exactly how he got to the Rogers apartment. He doesn’t remember leaving the floor of his own hallway. He wiped the corner of his mouth before raising his arm to knock. He knew he looked like hell and he knew that both Steve and his mom were going to make more of a fuss over this then they should. He hated that he wanted them to. Three solid knocks and Ms. Rogers was standing in the doorway. He face was pale and her hand went to cover her mouth. A sob escaped from behind it and it seemed to take her a second to catch herself. 

“Hey’a Ms. R.” Bucky shifted his weight and he heard Steve shout from the back of the apartment.

“Who is it, mom?” Bucky felt his stomach twist at the sound of his voice, remembering all of the things his father had shouted at him.

“James Buchanan Barnes, get your ass in this house right now.” Sarah’s face darkened and Bucky felt a rush of panic. She never swore. A cuss from Ms. Rogers was like hearing Jesus himself saying ‘Fuck’. 

“Buck?” Steve sounded just as worried as he felt. He heard the curse, too. “Oh my gosh, Bucky!” Steve ran past his mom and latched himself to Bucky’s side, pulling away when Bucky winced at the contact. “Oh, Buck.” Steve gingerly ran a hand over his swollen cheek. “Who did this?” 

“Who do you think?” He looked apologetically at Sarah. “I’m sorry, Ms. R. I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“You’re not leaving this house, do you understand me?” She went to the kitchen sink and came back with a bottle of alcohol and a couple butterfly bandages. “You are to stay here. I’m going to talk to your mother tomorrow. That wretched man. I have half a mind to give him a couple shiners myself.” Her face was flushed and her eyes dark. Steve didn’t try to hide the tears that spilled softly down his cheeks. His eyes matched his mother’s as the dark storm clouds of an impending December blizzard. 

“I’ll never let him hurt you again, Buck.” Steve spoke just low enough so only he could hear continuing to wipe streaks of drying blood from his cheeks and nose. 

“I know, pal.” Bucky smiled weakly and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He knew Steve couldn’t protect him but he wasn’t going to be the one to say it.


End file.
